


Knits and Knickers

by LumosLyra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Begging, Daddy Dom/Little Girl, F/M, Fluff, Foreign Language, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23080339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra
Summary: Oliver Wood comes home to find his wife lounging on their bed in a pair of white cotton knickers and knit wool socks.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Oliver Wood
Comments: 6
Kudos: 142
Collections: Good Girl Hermione





	Knits and Knickers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MinnyMcGee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinnyMcGee/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, MinnieMcGee, my darling! I hope this brings a smile to your face and because I have zero chill, you get it a few days early. <3

Oliver stood in the doorway to their bedroom, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the witch on the bed. His work robes were folded neatly over his forearm and his tie had been pulled loose. He’d already dropped his briefcase in the foyer and was coming to change when he realized his witch was home. She almost never made it home before he did and when she did, he knew he would find her on their bed. Sometimes she was sleeping - exhausted from her day, other times, she was simply waiting for him, her perfect nude body on full display. 

Others still, were times like this when her unruly curls hung loose about her shoulders and she was clad in only a pair of white cotton knickers and knitted socks that covered her legs from her toes to her knees. A book of ancient mythology and faerie tales written in some archaic language he couldn’t even begin to decipher was propped up against a few pillows as she read, a ridiculous quaffle with a smiling face charmed to say ridiculous things like “Parkins spotted the snitch!” “Wood blocks another one!” and “England scores!” if you smiled back at it, tucked up under her arm. 

When she’d first proposed this arrangement, he’d been apprehensive. Oliver had never done anything like this in his entire life. He’d shagged witches, taken them to dinner, bought them shiny baubles, and paraded around in his quidditch leathers at their request, but she’d been the first to ever ask him for something like  _ this. _

To be fair, it had been years since she’d asked and years since they’d fallen into their roles. As time passed, all of his apprehension faded and he only grew to love her more as each facet of her personality shone. She could light up a room with a mere smile or a brilliant thought. 

They called her the brightest witch and she was in his bed night after night and he felt so gods damned lucky that she was his. 

“Hello, mo phàisde,” he said, his thick Scottish brogue caressing his little name for her, as he pushed off of the doorframe and moved with a careful stride through the door. “Have you been a good girl, today?” 

Hermione’s eyes followed him around their bedroom as he hung up his work robes and further loosened his tie, rolling the sleeves of his navy oxford over his thick forearms. “Yes, Daddy. I’ve been good.” 

Oliver toed off his shoes and sat down on the bed to remove his socks. His darling wife curled into him like a cat, wrapping her body around his back and pressing her face against his trouser-clad leg. He paused, one sock halfway off of his foot, to push the wild curls he adored back from her face. 

She wore a mischievous smirk on her lips and had a glint in her eye. “Daddy?” she asked, her fingers draping over his leg to toy with the inseam of his trousers. 

“Yes, mo phàisde?” he asked, tucking his socks away in the nearby hamper. 

“Do good girls get spankings?” she asked shyly, her teeth capturing her pouty bottom lip for a moment before she continued, “Or is it only bad girls?” 

Oliver’s left hand slipped back and stroked the curve of her calf, covered by the warm knit woolen socks she wore, while he smiled down at her. His other hand threaded into her curls. “Do you need a spanking, little one?” he asked, schooling his voice into a serious tone. It was difficult to do when she looked so adorable, shyly wrapped around him as she was. 

Hermione nodded seriously, “But I want a good girl spanking, not one for bad girls who misbehave.”

“Littles who don’t listen stand in the…”

“Corner,” she finished with a pout. Oliver knew she hated that corner, but it had been her idea initially when they were just feeling each other and this facet of their relationship out. He’d used it liberally since simply because he liked having her backside on display in their living room while he read, worked, or watched the telly she insisted they purchase. 

“That’s right and you’ve been good, haven’t you mo phàisde?” he asked, prompting Hermione to nod again in earnest. “Good. Then come lie over my lap and I’ll give you what you need.” 

She quickly unwound herself from around him and scooted off of the bed to stand before him, pert breasts on display, her cunt and arse covered by white cotton knickers which Oliver could clearly see were damp at the gusset. He had to resist the urge to take one of her breasts in his mouth. Little minx had probably been planning this since before breakfast when she’d been searching for a pair of stockings to wear with her skirt. The knit socks she wore now had landed on the bed as she rushed to finish dressing for work. 

Oliver steadied her with his hands as she folded herself across his lap, her head resting on a pillow and her legs tucked out of the way. 

“Comfortable?” he asked, fingertips tracing over her thighs. 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“Let me know if anything starts to go numb, mo phàisde,” Oliver reminded her. His fingers slipped beneath her knickers and pulled them down to rest where her thighs met her arse. The palms of his hands ran up her thighs, over the knickers, to settle over the globes her arse. 

“Ask nicely,” he said, gently tapping her arse with his fingers as she squirmed in his lap. 

There was no hesitation. No embarrassment. The words tumbled from her mouth in an excited string, bouncing over her tongue with each syllable. “I’ve been your good girl. Please spank my bottom, Daddy.

“Of course you have,” he crooned, the first smack of his palm hitting her arse causing her to groan. He’d purposefully done it lighter than she’d meant for him to. He’d work her up until her entire arse matched the pink stripes at the top of her socks and then he’d turn her arse his favorite shade of red. 

“Daddy, please.” 

Merlin, she was already begging. He idly wondered how much she’d touched herself before he arrived home. Between two particularly hard smacks, he pushed two fingers into her dripping cunt and pulled them back out. 

She whined. He smiled and brought his palm down, hard, the slick smearing over her pretty pink arse. 

“Such a good girl,” Oliver crooned as she yelped and writhed in his lap. “You didn’t want a spanking, did you? Naughty girl. You wanted to come.” 

Hermione’s entire body flushed pink. “I - Daddy… I…” she tried to talk but the words wouldn’t come as Oliver rained down quick blows on her already pink arse, turning it into a delightful shade of crimson. 

She was wiggling and sobbing and moaning and her body was awash with sensation. He’d shifted her slightly so that with each blow of his hand, each time she writhed beneath his touch, her clit ground against his trouser covered leg. She was desperate. 

With the final impact of his hand, his fingers parted the sodden curls at her core and he pushed inside once more, leaving her knickers rolled along her upper thighs. Thick digits rocked within her passing over the spot deep within that made her entire body clench with need. 

When Oliver began speaking in one of the languages she’d never mastered - his own, with it’s thick vowels, bouncing consonants, and lilting tone, Hermione saw stars as the reverence in his voice drove her over the edge. 

When she came to, she was curled protectively in Oliver’s arms. He was still whispering to her in his native tongue while his thumb caressed the high of her cheek and he pressed soft kisses to her hairline. 

“Welcome home,” she mumbled, curling her arms to her chest and snuggling into him. “I missed you.” 

He chuckled lightly and kissed her more soundly. “I missed you too. Do you want me to fetch the salve?” 

Hermione shook her head, words slurring a bit with how tired she felt, “No, it feels nice.” 

“Why are you home early?” Oliver asked, pushing her sweat sodden curls from her face. 

“Yelled at McCallum,” she yawned, “Couldn’t look at his stupid face anymore.” 

Oliver arched an eyebrow, a smirk rising to his lips. “Is that so, mo phàisde? And here I thought you’d been a good girl.”

Hermione threaded her thin arms around his neck with a drowsy languidity and pushed herself upwards on their bed with her toes, wincing slightly as her bum scraped across the comforter. “I didn’t hex him, Daddy,” she mumbled, “I just told him how stupid he was for thinking…” the gag-order spell kicked in and while her lips mouthed the words, no sound came out. The movements of her lips across his neck caused a shiver to course over his spine. 

His little witch might think they were done playing, but she was wrong. 

They were just getting started. 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: According to google translate "mo phàisde" means "my baby" in Scots Gaelic.


End file.
